


Keep Swingin'

by chiixil_84



Series: Pistol Packin' Mama [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Curses, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Protagonist, Future, Future Fic, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Language, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Relationship(s), Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, The Railroad (Fallout), Yelling, argument, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiixil_84/pseuds/chiixil_84
Summary: Deacon takes the Sole Survivor out on a mission, and it quickly turns into an argument as prior feelings are brought up.
Relationships: Deacon & Female Sole Survivor, Deacon & Sole Survivor (Fallout), Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Series: Pistol Packin' Mama [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518656
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Keep Swingin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon and Camilla are supposed to be doing a mission to help some synths, as an "initiation" for her to join the Railroad, but it gets derailed by some... arguments.

They’d only been partners for a few weeks – a month, _tops_ – and Camilla had somehow found the strength to not punch Deacon in his smart mouth every time he popped over her shoulder. Though they’d been acquainted for quite some time before this particular partnership, this was the first time they were out, in the Commonwealth, _together_. 

With her _knowing_ about it, at least. Camilla still wasn’t really over how creepy that reveal had been, but at least he wasn’t entirely an asshole about the situation.

No doubt, it had been... _oh so very strange_ to have a random stranger that seemed to know what she’d been up to here and there in absolute detail over the last few years, but it was even weirder that he seemed to know even more information about her life (her _Pre-War life_ ) than Camilla was comfortable with confronting him about. 

So, punches it had been, though it had started off entirely by accident. To his credit, he rolled with them after the first few, taking each punch almost apologetically when he realized it had startled her something fierce; but, like everything he touched, it eventually became a sick game for him to see if he could startle her during the most inopportune times. It didn’t take the woman long to realize he had somehow made startling her into a game for himself, but she decided it would be far easier to not allow him to provoke her than to let him push all the buttons the Railroad operative seemed almost _too_ eager to do. 

He would often spend entire afternoons stealthed, hiding away just out of her reach before springing up on her; one time, she caught him watching her while she slept, and the only thing that gave him away had been the fact he yawned a little louder than he should’ve. (Maybe that had been his goal, to see how she would react to him watching her sleep? Did he wake her up purposefully to get instant gratification at his violation?) 

However, once their partnership had evolved into them going out on missions together, it became different over the last few weeks. 

She still couldn’t determine exactly where he was while stealthed, but he had a peculiar footfall to him that she learned to pick up on, especially after that one startling night. His movements had a rhythm to it, almost like he was dancing. At first, she’d thought it was disgusting that he was making something like spying on her a game, but now, knowing where his footfalls would land surprisingly helped keep them alive when they were waist-high in Gen 1 synth carcasses with dozens more teleporting around them. 

Someday, she would have to ask him what song he was dancing to, if it was even a song in the first place; for now, she took a little bit of sick comfort from the fact that even killers sometimes have ways to cope, and his might just be dancing and pulling intrusive pranks. 

Though, they could only kill so many Institute fodder-bots and destroy their attempts at getting someone or something from the Wasteland; for the last three days, they’d been staying at a run-down settlement, looking for the signs of any synths that wanted an out through the Railroad. This was their first town, and playing the part as a couple of drifters, they kept their head low, aid to a minimum, and rolled with the punches the wasteland threw at the settlement. 

She couldn’t find the strength to sleep tonight, so she offered to take up the watch for the night. 

Camilla could somewhat understand why Deacon was so good at laying low. _Kind of have to be,_ the woman told herself as she scratched the back of her neck, watching the other settlers head to bed for the night, _when the world is cruel and no one seems to want to intervene._

The night stretched on without much nuisance beyond a few rabid dogs howling out in the wilderness, and all seemed peaceful as the bonfire in the middle of the settlement raged. A few stragglers remained by to take in the warmth and enjoyed each other’s company, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before they, too, would shuffle off to their own hovels. Despite being too restless to sleep, she was too exhausted to offer up any of her own conversation points to the others, and instead enjoyed listening in on their little lives outside of the war she was about to start down south with the Commonwealth's Boogeyman. 

She was so _tired_ of it all, and couldn’t wait for it to all end. She wondered _when_ that would be– given that the Railroad had been blocking every attempt so far at allowing her the mission that would allow her to infiltrate the Institute and get her baby boy. So far, the Railroad had yet to decide if she was “non-risk” or not, and instead sent her out on stop-and-go missions instead. Deacon, their _best_ operative, had given her a glowing review to Desdemona, and though it made the Railroad leader pause, she ultimately decided that Camilla would need to prove herself first.

That fact _infuriated_ Camilla. Honestly, she would probably strangle the woman the first chance she got, if it didn’t mean having the other Railroad cells turn their sights away from the Institute and onto the Minutemen. 

As her thoughts delved deeper into the problems that awaited her in the future, she sensed Deacon sit beside her; it didn’t take much for her to do so anymore. But, it did surprise her that he wasn’t stealthed this time. Seeing him made so many questions and frustrations pool at the tip of her tongue, bubbling in her mouth like a bad first kiss, but she decided to remain silent instead of interrogating him on an issue he had no control over; Camilla had learned early on if he had something to say, Deacon would say it. 

What started off as a minute turned into thirty, and as it pulled into an hour of near-silence between the rest of the stragglers, Camilla was sure that Deacon was just a figment of her imagination at this point. As the woman opened her mouth to speak, the operative’s voice cut in first. 

“You’re wrong, you know.” 

The tone of his voice startled her, so much so that her jaw snapped shut with an audible _click_. It took her a moment of staring at the man to finally realize he was speaking to _her_. “About what?” she questioned, her voice low. 

“Bobby ain’t anything like your son. He never _will_ be, no matter how good of a mom you think you might be to him.” 

Camilla raised an eyebrow in confusion, unsure of what he was talking about. She took a moment to look at him, and _really_ take in just how different he had become for this mission with her: his usual, nearly-pristine shades were replaced by a pair of soft-grey glasses, the lenses scratched and showing his new, eerily green irises; the once-perfectly gelled black hair had been buzzed almost Pre-War grunt-style, dyed a too-bright white that offset his scarred, deeply tanned face in an unfamiliar way; his clothes were dirty, resewn and patchy, and were just too big on his frame to make him almost look like a kid wearing his dad’s old work clothes. Deacon’s usual half-cocked smile was replaced with a cold, indifferent frown, and he sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees as he stared through the darkness, the fires illuminating his eyes like a cat. 

He looked so inhuman, it almost terrified her; if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve taken him for a courser. 

“And what that’s supposed to mean?” she pressed, leaning over her knees slightly to try and catch his gaze. He continued to stare out into the night, almost ignoring her presence save for the slight sneer beginning to appear at the edges of his mouth. 

She may not have known him very well, but this was odd behavior, even for him. 

“Hey, if you have something to say to me,” the woman out of time started, her voice rising slightly as the agitation began to take over, but she wasn’t able to finish as the look that Deacon gave her made her immediately shut up. 

Eyes narrowed, voice dripping with venom, the operative snarled, “You don’t _get_ it. You’ll never get what it’s like to live out here your entire life, not – not with the _comforts_ you were given before. You don’t get to call yourself a _mom_ when you’ve been sulking in your little fortified city, pretending like nothing is wrong in the world.” 

His words cut through her, _deeply_ , and it sparked some tears in her eyes. She scooted away from him, her fingers gripping the edge of her rifle as she stammered, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about –” His bitter laugh cut her words short, and sent icy shivers down her spine. 

“Really? You said it yourself, you’re a Vaultie before you’d ever be a Wastelander. You weren’t made for this world, and it shows.” He leaned in closer to her, his eyes wide like a madman’s in the firelight, as he whispered, “Did you even _try_ to look for your kid? Or did you think him dead, just like the rest of the world?” 

Pulling even further away from him, she tried keeping her voice low as she hissed, feeling the eyes of the other settlers on her, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Deacon?” 

“You’ve been my problem since _day one_ ,” the man replied, his words coming out almost like a coo. It twisted the knife in her gut the longer he spoke, and all Camilla wanted to do was _scream_. “And you expect things to be fine between us?” 

A laugh escaped her, more so out of confusion than anything else, as she asked, “Where is this coming from? Why _now?_ ” 

He stood up slowly, the crazy look still in his eyes even as his face returned to its cold indifference. “Your fourth visit to Diamond City with Mac, you said something to Piper – your exact words were, ‘If I had one wish in my life, it would be that Nikolas would have MacCready’s heart.’” 

Camilla felt like he’d shot her with a nail grenade, so absolutely dumbfounded it almost made her forget to breathe. “Really?” she hissed. “That’s why you’re treating me this way?” When he didn’t reply, she continued, her voice rising, “You really want to fight about this _here?_ We’re in the middle of a Goddamn mission, and you want to pick a bone with me?” 

“Do you know the trouble I went through to get you here?” he snapped, throwing his hands up as he towered over her. “I spent fucking _years_ watching over that Hell hole you keep protecting, and you want to pretend there’s _nothing_ going on here?” 

“Nothing _is_ going on here!” she shouted back, standing up. Camilla stuck a finger in his face, her entire body shaking as she continued, “To Hell with your creepy, perverted ‘watch.’ You have _no_ idea what I’ve been through, Deacon, and you can go _right_ to Hell if you think you know my life better than I do. You think you’re _so_ fucking great, that you know everyone and everything happening in the Commonwealth, but you’re sitting here in a shitty place just like I am, pretending you’re better than everyone around you!” 

He moved away, another bitter laugh escaping him as he began to pace, his shadow melding into the darkness beyond their dying bonfire as if he were a specter just barely here. “You think this is me _pretending?_ Oh, honey, I haven’t been doing my roles _justice_ then.” 

Throwing her hands up in frustration, the woman shouted, “Then _what_ do you want from me? What does any of this have to do with Mac’s kid?” 

He stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes glowing in the dying bonfire, reminding her of the way Nick’s would look in the dim lighting of his office. It sent her into an almost panicked state, if not for the fact that his mouth twisted into another one of those crazy smiles. 

_Is Deacon finally cracking from all the pressure?_ Camilla thought, taking a step back as she grabbed her gun with both hands, keeping it pointed at the ground between them. _Has he legitimately gone insane?_

“You already have a kid,” he told her, his voice just barely louder than the crackling of the fire beside them. “You should probably prioritize _that_ search over any other.” 

“And you think sitting here arguing with me and putting me back at square one with the Railroad is going to get me there faster?” she growled, gripping the rifle with white, shaking knuckles. “What is this supposed to achieve, Deacon? What’s your endgame here?” 

“Do you even care about your fucking kid at all, or are you just trying to get laid by every Goddamn asshole that swoops in to save you?” he shouted, his voice echoing across the emptiness of the Commonwealth. 

Even the few stragglers that were continuing their own conversations stopped at that, unable to avoid the awkwardness that had unfolded between the two drifters. 

She turned to look at them as they stared, dread clawing at her gut as she realized just what they had done.

Slowly standing to her full height, Camilla did a curt about-face and walked off, ignoring Deacon as he followed in beside her. His words (his _lies_ ) were firing off like a minigun as he tried to soothe her, his tone no longer venomous and instead replaced by that cool demeanor that had once made her smile. As she approached the edge of the property, far enough away from the others, the woman out of time turned around and pointed the rifle at the approaching man’s chest. Her finger hovered beside the trigger, her arms shaking as she did so, but she didn’t fire. 

She couldn’t risk it. 

At her threatening gesture, the man stopped right in his tracks, staring at her from behind those God-awful glasses. He watched her every move like a turret, waiting to react to whatever she was going to do. It made her _so_ angry to see him just shut off so easily, but what was she supposed to do here? 

“Leave me the Hell alone,” Camilla finally managed to choke out, her words grinding out as a sob formed deep in her chest. He blinked once, but otherwise didn’t respond. Taking it as him finally shutting up long enough to listen, she continued, “You, your entire faction, _all_ of you. If I see any of you step foot into my settlements, you’re asking for war.” 

He blinked once more, opening his mouth as if to speak to her. 

But she just... left. 

She didn’t have any idea where she wanted to go at the moment, but she knew she wanted to be as far away from _him_ as possible. And, maybe, prepare her settlements for the bloodshed she just provoked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this idea in my head, but it might not ever happen. I just wanted to post it as its own stand-alone thing because yay, arguments???
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.


End file.
